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DEATH  AND  THE  FOOL 


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HUGO   VON   HOFMANNSTHAL 
Death  and  the  Fool 

JOSE  ECHEGARAY 
The  Great  Galeoto 

AUGUST  STRINDBERG 

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RICHARD  G.   BADGER 
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Contemporary    Dramatists   Series 


A    DRAMA    IN 
ONE     ACT     BY 

HUGO  VON  HOFMANNSTHAL 

Translated  from  the  German 
with  the  Consent  of  the  Author 
by  ELISABETH  WALTER 


BOSTON:   RICHARD  G.  BADGER 

THE    COPP    CLARK    CO.,     LIMITED,     TORONTO 


Copyright,  1414,  by  Richard  Q.  Badger 


All  Rights  Reserved 


THE  GORHAM  PRESS,  BOSTON,  U.S.  A. 


HUGO  VON  HOFMANNSTHAL 


H 


UGO  VON   HOFMANNSTHAL, 

pioneer  of  the  symbolic  movement  in 
German  literature,  was  born  in  Vienna 
February  i,  1874.  His  father,  a  no- 
table lawyer,  and  "Vorstand  des  Rechts-bureau  der 
Oestreich-Zentral-Boden-Kredit-Bank"  in  Vienna, 
is  descended  of  an  ancient  Austrian  family,  which 
in  1835  had  been  raised  to  the  aristocracy.  Hugo 
received  his  early  education  at  the  gymnasium  in 
Vienna  and  later  attended  the  university  there  to 
study  law  and  Romanic  philology.  After  attain- 
ing the  doctorate,  he  devoted  himself  to  literary 
work.  At  the  remarkably  early  age  of  seventeen  he 
published  his  first  dramatic  study  Gestern,  employ- 
ing the  pseudonym,  Theophil  Morren.  This  was 
immediately  followed  by  the  dramas,  Der  Tod  des 
Tizian  in  1892,  and  Der  Tor  und  der  Tod  in  1893, 
written  under  the  penname  of  Loris.  In  1899  the 
volume,  Theater  in  Versen  appeared,  containing  the 
dramas,  Die  Hochzeit  der  Zobeide,  Die  Frau  im 
Fenster,  and  Der  Abendteurer  und  die  Saengerin. 
Two  volumes  of  short  plays  were  published  in  1906 
under  the  title  Kleine  Dramen.  From  these  purely 
lyrical  and  romantic  works,  Hofmannsthal  turned 
to  the  great  psychological  dramas  of  literature.  He 
5 


2081903 


6        HUGO  VON  HOFMANNSTHAL 

rewrote  Sophocles'  Elektra  in  1903,  his  Oedipus 
Rex  in  1904,  and  Oedipus  and  the  Spinx  in  1906. 
Otway's  Venice  Preserved  was  modernised  under 
the  title  Das  Gerettete  Venedig,  in  1904.  On  this 
side  of  the  Atlantic  Hofmannsthal  is  perhaps  best 
known  as  the  poet  of  the  opera  Der  Rosenkavalier 
which  was  first  published  in  1911.  Besides  these 
dramatic  poems  Hofmannsthal  issued  two  volumes 
of  verses,  Ausgewdhlte  Gedichte,  1903  and  Ges- 
ammelte  Gedichte'  1907.  His  prose  writings  in- 
clude Talks  on  Literary  Subjects  1905  and  Prose 
Works  1907. 

To  Hermann  Bahr  belongs  the  distinction  of  hav- 
ing first  discovered  the  genius  of  Hugo  von  Hof- 
mannsthal. The  youthful  author  of  Gestern,  how- 
ever, was  not  long  dependent  upon  his  friends  for 
initiation  into  art  circles,  but  soon  spread  his  wings 
to  soar  to  atmospheres  but  little  known  to  his  fore- 
runners. He  became  one  of  the  select  circle  that 
gathered  around  Stephan  George  and  without  doubt 
may  be  reckoned  its  most  illustrious  member.  This 
circle  is  representative  of  that  new  movement  in 
literature  known  as  the  symbolistic  school  whose 
aims  and  methods  are  diametrically  opposed  to  those 
of  the  naturalistic  and  realistic  schools.  In  a  maga- 
zine, Blaetter  fuer  die  Kunst  (Art  Leaflets)  is- 
sued by  this  group  of  young  Viennese  poets,  the  aims 
of  symbolism  were  set  forth  in  the  following  words: 


HUGO  VON  HOFMANNSTHAL        7 

— "An  art  for  art's  sake,  which  is  therefore  im- 
mediately opposed  to  that  hackneyed  and  inferior 
movement  which  had  its  source  in  a  mistaken  con- 
ception of  reality.  Nor  can  this  art  occupy  itself 
with  world  reform,  or  dreams  of  an  all-round 
felicity,  dreams  that  are  very  beautiful  in  their  way, 
but  belong  to  a  realm  not  akin  to  poetry." 

Unlike  most  youthful  authors  these  men  scorned 
publicity.  The  Art  Leaflets  were  never  to  be  had 
for  money,  but  were  given  to  the  select  few  whom 
genius  deemed  worthy.  In  this  magazine  Death 
and  the  Fool  first  appeared  in  1893,  nor  was  it 
placed  on  sale  in  book  form  until  seven  years  later, 
when  it  met  with  such  general  favor  among  the 
German  reading  public  that  within  ten  years  twelve 
editions  had  been  exhausted.  It  was  the  influence 
of  Nietzschean  philosophy  that  prompted  this  desire 
to  avoid  publicity,  this  aristocratic  reserve.  And 
it  was  also  Nietzschean  influence  that  led  these 
writers  to  express  themselves  in  aphorisms  and  or- 
acular maxims,  rather  than  in  the  more  plain  but 
ofttimes  labored  language  of  the  realists. 

Hofmannsthal  has  expressed  the  diversity  of  aims 
of  the  two  schools  in  these  words: — "Between  the 
older  art  and  the  art  of  to-day  there  is  indeed  great 
conflict.  We  want  no  invention  of  narratives,  but 
the  reproduction  of  emotions ;  no  contemplation, 
but  representation;  not  amusement,  but  impression. 


8        HUGO  VON  HOFMANNSTHAL 

The  majority  of  the  older  poets  created  their  work 
according  to  certain  popular  tenets,  or  what  they 
desired  the  world  to  accept  as  principle.  We,  on 
the  contrary,  view  the  happenings  of  an  era  but  as 
a  means  of  artistic  inspiration."  Shakespeare  had 
been  attracted  to  the  story  of  Macbeth  by  the  course 
of  events  in  his  history;  Goethe  was  drawn  to 
Iphigenia  by  her  character  and  personality ;  but  Hot- 
mannsthal  felt  the  forceful  impression  of  a  storm 
of  happenings  upon  a  life-throbbing  spirit,  and  it 
is  this  that  his  dramas  reproduce.  He  wrote  not 
to  give  pleasure,  not  to  instruct,  but  that  he,  and 
with  him  his  audience  might  taste  to  the  last,  aye, 
to  the  very  dregs,  the  bitter  cup  that  had  been  forced 
to  the  lips  of  a  suffering  humanity.  It  is  this  that  has 
given  such  fearful  force  to  his  historical  plays. 
Mood  and  sensation  are  all  important,  character  and 
events  are  only  a  means  of  creating  the  same. 
Neither  time  nor  place  binds  the  new-romanticists. 
In  their  abrupt  turning  from  the  naturalistic  trend 
of  their  contemporaries,  they  reach  back  through  the 
ages  into  the  cultured  world  of  dead  nations.  In 
this  feeling  at  one  with  the  people  and  customs  of 
far  gone  days  Hofmannsthal  is  unsurpassed.  His 
favorite  field  is  the  time  of  the  Renaissance. 

With  the  hand  of  a  magician  he  weaves  symbolic 
dreams  unutterably  rich  in  color  and  melody.  His 
plays  are  lyrical  records  of  deep  and  poignant  emo- 


HUGO  VON  HOFMANNSTHAL        9 

tion  occupied  with  the  spiritual  adventures  of  soul, 
and  mysterious  as  the  mystery  of  a  spirit's  moods. 
A  disciple  of  D'Annunzio  and  Wilde,  he  far  sur- 
passes both  in  the  lyrical  quality  of  his  verse,  which 
in  its  magnificent  resonance  is  as  the  orchestration 
of  nature  and  humanity.  A  true  word-artist,  he 
chooses  his  phrases  with  remarkable  nicety,  ever 
pregnant  with  meaning  and  of  piercing  sweetness. 
The  perfection  of  his  rhymes  never  palls,  but  at  all 
times  is  suited  to  the  crest  or  trough  of  feeling  em- 
bodied, verse  gliding  into  verse  as  wave  overtaking 
wave.  E.  W. 


CAST  OF  CHARACTERS 

Death 

Claudia,  a  Nobleman 

His  Valet 

Claudia's  Mother 

Claudia's  Sweetheart    ^   Dead 

His  Chum 

Claudia's  House 

Costumes  of  1820 


Death  and  the  Fool 

Claudia's  study  in  the  style  of  Louis  XVI.  In 
the  background  right  and  left  are  large  windows,  in 
the  center  a  glass  door  leading  out  to  the  balcony 
from  which  a  wooden  staircase  leads  down  into 
the  garden.  At  the  left  a  white  folding  door,  at  the 
right  a  similar  one  opening  into  his  bedroom  which 
is  shut  off  with  a  green  velvet  portier.  A  desk 
near  the  window  at  the  right,  a  chair  in  front  of  it. 
To  the  pillars  are  fastened  glass  cabinets  containing 
antiques.  Close  to  the  wall  at  the  right  is  a  dark 
Gothic  carved  chest,  ancient  musical  instruments 
hang  above  it.  A  picture  by  an  old  Italian  master 
is  almost  black  with  age.  The  wall  is  covered  with 
a  very  light  wall-paper,  stucco  and  gilt. 

CLAVDIO  alone. 
He  is  seated  at  the  window.     Sunset, 

The  distant  hills  against  th'  horizon  rear 
Their  crowned  heads  'twixt  rays  of  sun  declining, 
13 


14  DEATH  AND  THE  FOOL 

A  wreath  afloat  In  gilded  atmosphere 
Of  snowy  clouds  with  shadows  deep  entwining. 
So  were  the  clouds  of  ancient  masters  painted 
That  bear  aloft  the  Virgin  Mother  sainted. 
The  precipice  in  sombre  blue  is  shrouded, 
The  hollow  vale  of  mountain  shadows  kissed, 
The  glistening  meads  in  evening  gray  are  clouded, 
One  suntinged  peak  gleams  forth  an  amethyst. 
With  jealous  pangs  my  yearning  soul  regards 
The  fortunate  who  golden  fields  have  planted, 
The  earth  their  weary,  fulsome  toil  rewards, 
Them  happy  weariness  of  limb  is  granted. 
With  feet  unshod,  upon  the  fragrant  heather 
The  morning  wind  disports  in  summer's  glare; 
He  wakens  them.    The  bees  their  honey  gather 
Near  them;  they  breathe  God's  glorious,  sunny  air. 
Nature's  their  lowly  slave,  and  they  inherit 
Her  choicest  gifts;  their  wealth  my  soul  doth  taunt. 
Between  alternate  fresh  and  wearied  spirit, 
To  them  no  fortune's  blessing  is  unwont. 
The  golden  orb  doth  shift  its  place  and  sinks 
Into  the  gleaming  crystal  of  the  sea, 
The  last  faint  streak  on  distant  treetop  blinks. 
Now  reddish  smoke  doth  hover  hazily, 


DEATH  AND  THE  FOOL  15 

Now  fiery  glare  upon  the  shore — 'tis  there 

Great  cities  lie,  with  arms  of  Naiades 

In  monstrous  cradles  high  their  children  bear; 

A  noble  people  and  audacious.    These 

The  unexplored  ocean  waves  patrol 

That  ne'er  before  were  cut  by  any  keel. 

The  anger  of  the  sea  doth  rouse  the  soul, 

And  every  pain  and  passionate  pang  doth  heal. 

Thus  meaning,  and  thus  blessing  I  behold 

Spread  over  all — I  gaze  there  longingly, 

But  meaningless  is  all,  and  pain  untold 

Doth  fill  the  things,  the  scenes  that  nearer  me. 

So  seems  my  life  insensate,  wholly  wasted, 

Confined  within  these  walls,  these  streets  my  lot. 

With  unshed  tears  'twas  full,  and  joys  untasted, 

And  yearning  for,  alas,  I  know  not  what. 

He  stands  at  the  window. 

They  light  their  candles  now,  and  they  attain 
Within  their  walls  a  narrowed  world  and  dull, 
With  all  that  holds  the  human  heart  in  chain, 
Of  joys  and  tears  and  pain  'tis  full. 
Each  heart  to  each  is  ope;  they  share 


16  DEATH  AND  THE  FOOL 

Misgivings  o'er  the  traveler  not  returned, 

With  cheering  words  they  comfort,  drive  out  care; 

(Ah  me,  to  comfort  I  have  never  learned.) 

They  know  what  tone  each  anguished  hour  calls, 

To  cull  or  smile  or  tear  what  word  is  needing, 

Nor  ever  knock  on  sevenfold  nailed  walls 

With  wounded  fingers  torn  and  bleeding. 


What  do  I  know  of  life  of  man  ? 

As  an  outsider  did  I  view  it, 

I  could  not  weave  my  soul  into  it, 

Was  in  it  but  not  of  the  clan. 

Myself  I  never  could  forget, 

Nor  give,  nor  take,  like  others  blessed ; 

My  soul  ne'er  understanding  met. 

Tho  many  fond  lips  mine  have  pressed 

I  never  drank  the  cup  of  happiness, 

I  never  knew  a  deep  and  poignant  anguish, 

Nor  sobbing  trod  the  path  of  loneliness. 

Whene'er  of  Heaven's  choicest  gifts  in  me 

A  fluttering  caused,  a  thrill,  immediately 

My  ever  wakeful  brain,  forgetfulness 

Unknowing,  boldly  spoke  its  name; 


DEATH  AND  THE  FOOL  17 

Comparisons  arose,  and  with  them  came 
Mistrust,  and  robbed  me  of  all  joyousness. 
And  agony — devoid  of  colouring, 
By  contemplation  torn,  dissected  quite — 
How  could  I  press  that  horrid,  mangled  thing 
Unto  my  breast  and  suck  its  rare  delight? 
Its  wings  just  grazed  and  wearied  me, 
Uneasiness  I  felt,  not  agony. 

With  a  sudden  start. 

'Tis  darkening,  I  ponder  foolishly. 

Ah,  Time,  indeed,  hath  various  progeny. 

But  I  am  tired,  I  shall  try  to  sleep. 

The  valet  brings  in  a  lamp  and  immediately  with- 
draws. 

In  glaring  light  once  more  the  lamp  doth  steep 
For  me  this  storeroom's  lifeless  frippery, 
Through  which  I  fain  by  stealthy  way  had  crept, 
Since  barred  the  open  path  must  ever  be, 
Into  that  life  for  which  I  yearning  wept. 

He  stops  in  front  of  the  Crucifix. 


1 8  DEATH  AND  THE  FOOL 

At  Thy  poor,  wounded  feet  of  ivory, 

Oh,  Savior  crucified,  have  many  knelt, 

To  quench  the  burning  flames  prayed  fervently, 

That  in  their  hearts  so  marvelously  dwelt; 

And  when  an  icy  chill  the  glow  displaced, 

Repentance  vain,  and  fierce  remorse  they  faced. 

He  stands  in  front  of  the  old  picture. 

Giaconda,  from  a  background  wondrous 

Thy  soulful  form  in  mystic  splendor  gleams, 

Thy  mouth  austere,  and  sweet  mysterious, 

Thine  eyelids  weighted  down  with  golden  dreams; 

Hast  just  so  much  of  life  to  me  reveal'd 

As  my  interrogating  soul  to  thee  did  yield. 

He  turns  to  the  chest. 

Ye  cups,  upon  whose  cool  refreshing  rim 

Full  many  lips  in  rapture  rare  have  hung, 

Ye  ancient  lutes,  whose  twanging  strings  have  sung 

To  man  oppressed  of  woe,  and  solaced  him, 

Ah,  could  ye  weave  your  magic  spell  o'er  me 

How  glad  your  willing  prisoner  I  should  be. 


DEATH  AND  THE  FOOL  19 

Ye  wooden,  and  ye  brazen  shields  of  old, 

With  strange  devices  half  concealed,  half  bold, 

Ye  cherubs,  grifons,  fauns,  and  toads, 

Fantastic  birds,  and  fruit  of  jungle  weird, 

Intoxicating  things  and  to  be  feared, 

Wert  born  of  some  deep  human  heart's  emotion, 

Art  progeny  of  palpitating  moods, 

Washed  upward  by  the  mighty  waves  of  ocean; 

And  as  the  net  the  fish,  so  form  imprisoned  ye. 

In  vain,  alas,  in  vain,  I  followed  ye, 

Your  charms  as  fetters  ever  have  I  felt. 

And  tho  like  masks  in  turn  I  donned  your  souls 

That  quivered  so  with  life,  and  in  them  dwelt, 

Nor  life,  nor  hearts,  or  world  of  me  were  visioned, 

Held  by  these  as  a  swarm  of  motes  imprisoned; 

While  Harpies,  cold,  repellent,  guarded  e'er 

Each  cool,  refreshing  spring's  sweet  blossoms  fair. 

The  artificial  so  completely  bound  me 

That  dead  mine  eyes  looked  on  the  golden  sun, 

And  deaf  mine  ears  were  to  the  world  around  me. 

The  mystic  curse  forever  on  my  head, 

Ne'er  conscious  quite,  ne'er  quite  my  senses  lost, 

To  live  my  life  e'en  as  a  book  that  read 

Is  understood  but  half,  while  for  the  rest  the  brain 


ao  DEATH  AND  THE  FOOL 

Gropes  in  the  sombre  realms  of  life  and  gropes  in 

vain. 

And  all  that  pleased,  and  all  that  made  me  sad, 
It  seemed  as  tho  no  meaning  of  itself  it  had. 
Nay,  this  was  naught  but  future  life's  forseeing, 
A  hollow  picture  of  completer  being. 
In  sorrows  and  in  love  I  battled  ever 
'Gainst  shadows,  all  my  sense  bewildered  quite, 
Employed  my  instincts  but  exhausted  never, 
And  vaguely  dreamed  that  day  would  follow  night. 
I  turned  and  looked  upon  this  life 
Wherein  no  race  was  ever  won  by  speed, 
And  bravery  is  not  an  aid  in  strife, 
Where  sorrows  sadden  not  nor  joys  make  glad, 
Where  senseless  answers  senseless  questions  breed. 
Entangled   dreams  rise  in   the  harrowed   mind, 
And  chance  rules  all,  the  hour,  wave,  and  wind. 
So  painfully  astute  and   mortified 
In  wearied  pride,  with  disappointment  faint, 
I  lie  deep  buried  here  without  complaint, 
Within  these  walls,  this  town  do  I  abide; 
The  people,  too,  have  ceased  to  give  me  heed, 
They've  found  that  I  am  commonplace  indeed. 


DEATH  AND  THE  FOOL  21 

The  valet  enters  with  a  plateful  of  cherries  which 
he  places  on  the  table,  then  turns  to  close  the  doors 
of  the  balcony. 

CL AUDIO 

Why  shut  the  doors  so  soon?  What's  frighten- 
ed you? 

THE  VALET 

Your  Honor  wont  believe  it  if  I  tell. 
To  himself,  fearfully. 

And  now  they've  hidden  in  the  arbor  there! 
CLAUDIO 

Why  who? 

THE  VALET 

Your  pardon,  sir,  I  do  not  know; 
It  seems  an  army  of  uncanny  folk. 


22  DEATH  AND  THE  FOOL 

CL AUDIO 

Beggars? 

THE  VALET 
I  do  not  know. 
CL  AUDIO 

Oh,  shut  the  door 

That  leads  from  out  the  garden  to  the  street, 
Then  go  to  bed  and  bother  me  no  more. 

THE  VALET 

'Tis  even  that  has  just  alarmed  me  so, 
The  garden  gate  is  bolted,  but — 

CLAUDIO 

But  what? 
THE  VALET 

They're  sitting  in  the  garden  even  now, 
Upon  the  sandstone  figure  of  Apollo  some, 


DEATH  AND  THE  FOOL  23 

A  pair  are  hidden  in  the  shadows  there 
Beneath  the  fountain,  one  is  on  the  Sphinx, 
The  yewtree  hides  him,  you  can't  see  him  now. 

CL  AUDIO 

Are  they  men? 

THE  VALET 

Some  men  and  women  also, 
Not  beggar-folk,  old  fashioned  are  their  clothes. 
They  look  just  like  the  etchings  on  your  walls. 
In  such  appalling  manner  there  they  sit, 
With  eyes  that  stare  at  one  as  empty  air. 
They  can't  be  human  beings.     Your  Honor,  pray, 
Be  not  annoyed,  but  not  for  all  the  world 
Would  I  go  out  in  their  vicinity, 
Pray  God,  to-morrow  they'll  have  disappeared. 
And  now,  with  your  permission,  sir,  I'll  close 
The  doors  and  bolt  them  too,  and  all  the  locks 
With  holy  water  I  shall  sprinkle.     'Cause 
I've  never  yet  seen  humans  looked  like  those, 
And  eyes  like  theirs  are  not  in  human  heads. 


24  DEATH  AND  THE  FOOL 

CLAUD1O 

Do  as  you  like  and  now  good-night. 

He  walks  musingly  up  and  down  the  room.  Be- 
hind the  scenes  are  heard  the  yearning,  mournful 
strains  of  a  violin,  soft  and  distant  at  first,  gradually 
coming  nearer,  until  at  last  the  full,  warm  notes 
seem  to  come  from  the  adjoining  room. 

CLAUDIO 

Music? 

Rare  music,  too,  that  speaks  unto  the  soul! 
The  fellow's  nonsense  has  bewitched  me  quite, 
Methinks  no  human  hand  e're  culled 
Such  tones  from  out  a  violin. 

Remains  in  listening  attitude  turned  toward  the 
right. 

It  seems  as  tho  my  soul  'twere  rending 
In  tremors  solemn,  deep,  supernal, 
It  seems  to  speak  remorse  unending, 


DEATH  AND  THE  FOOL  25 

And  sings  of  hope,  sweet  hope  eternal; 

As  tho  from  out  these  ancient  walls  and  wide 

My  life  unrolled  before  me  glorified. 

'Tis  like  a  mother's  or  a  loved  one's  ent'ring; 

Like  every  long  lost  one's  return 

It  rouses  thoughts  'round  good  things  cent'ring, 

That  in  my  breast  with  youthful  fire  burn. 

When  beauteous  Spring  in  boyhood  did  inflame  me, 

The  vast  unknown  brought  quickening  to  my  blood, 

A  yearning,  boundless,  infinite,  o'ercame  me, 

An  apprehensive,  wild,  prophetic  flood. 

Then   days  of  wandering  came,   intoxicating, 

When  all  the  world  was  bathed  in  wondrous  light, 

And   roses  bloomed,   and  bells  rang  celebrating, 

And  ecstacy  was  'round  me  and  delight. 

What  throbbing  life  all  things  then  did  contain! 

What  meaningfulness  all   things  then   acquired! 

I  felt  my  soul  enraptured,  felt  inspired, 

I  living  link  within  the  human  chain. 

And  love  I  then  divined,  the  mighty  stream 

That  nourisheth  all  hearts,  thru  mine  heart  urged ; 

And  a  contentment,  that  not  e'en  in  dream 

I  now  know,  then  thru  all  my  being  surged. 

Sing  on,  oh  mystic  music,  sing  to  me, 


26  DEATH  AND  THE  FOOL 

And  stir  my  sluggish  soul  unto  its  source! 
It  seems,  reviewed  thus  retrospectively, 
My  life  in  joy  and  warmth  had  run  its  course. 
The  crust  of  age  subsideth  meltingly 
Beneath  this  fiery  glow  of  youthful  force; 
The  useless  learning  which  my  wilful  choice 
In  weary  weight  upon  these  shoulders  lays, 
Is  lost  before  the  great  Primordial  Voice, 
These  sacred  tones,  this  call  of  childhood  days. 
While  heralded  afar  with  bells  loud  ringing, 
A  new  life  cometh  forth,  a  new  awaking, 
In  forms  to  which  is  boundless  meaning  clinging, 
Sincerely  great  in  giving  and  in  taking. 

The  music   ceases  suddenly. 

Ah,  there,  'tis  silent  now,   the  violin! 
Divinely  human  grace  I  felt  therein. 
And  he  who  so  had  power  to  enchant 
Most  likely  standeth  in  the  street  below 
And  holdeth  out  his  hat,  a  mendicant. 

He  goes  to  the  window  at  the  right. 

I  do  not  see  him  here.    Indeed  'tis  strange ! 
Where  may  he  be?     Perhaps  at  t'other  window. 


DEATH  AND  THE  FOOL  27 

While  Claudia  moves  toward  the  door  at  the 
right,  the  curtain  is  softly  drawn,  and  Death  stands 
revealed  in  the  doorway,  bow  in  hand,  and  his  fiddle 
hanging  from  his  belt.  He  calmly  views  Claudio, 
who  has  drawn  back  in  extreme  terror. 

CLAUDIO. 

Why  does  such  senseless  fear  the  joy  displace 
With  which  ere  now  I  did  thy  notes  attend? 
Whence  comes  this  spasm  as  I  view  thy  face? 
What  binds  my  throat?     What  draws  my  hair  on 

end? 
Begone !    Thou  art  the  Death !  What  wouldst  thou 

here? 
I  am  afeared !     Begone !     My  voice  fails  me ! 

He  sinks  to  the  floor. 

I  cannot  breathe!     I  stifle!    Air,  oh,  air! 

Begone !  Who  called  thee  ?  Go !  Who  oped  to  thee  ? 

DEATH. 

Arise!     Cast  this  hereditary  fear  from  thee! 
I  am  no  grewsome  thing,  no  skeleton. 


28  DEATH  AND  THE  FOOL 

From  Venus  I'm  descended,  Dionysos'  son, 
The  god  of  Souls  before  thee  thou  dost  see. 
When  thou  thru  summer  shadows  going, 
Hast  seen  a  leaf  borne  thru  the  gilded  air, 
'Tis  then  my  breath  hath  touched  thee,  thou  un- 
knowing, 

That  dreamlike  doth  all  ripened  things  ensnare 
Whenever  overflowing  feelings  fill 
Thy  trembling  soul  with  flood  of  warmth  and  light, 
Whene'er  in  momentary  thrill 
The  vast  Unknown  is  brought  before  thy  sight, 
And  thou  surrend'ring  to  the  wheel  of  fate 
Dost  look  upon  the  world  as  thine  estate ; 
In  every  truly  solemn  hour 
That  made  thine  earthly  form  to  quiver, 
I  touched  thy  soul's  foundation  ever 
With  sacred,  with  mysterious  power. 

CLAVDIO. 

Enough.    I  greet  thee  now  as  'tis  becoming, 
Tho  nervous  still. 

Short  pause. 


DEATH  AND  THE  FOOL  29 

But  say  what  means  thy  coming? 

DEATH. 

My  coming,  friend,  hath  but  one  meaning  e'er. 
CLAUDIO. 

But  surely  I  have  time  and  much  to  spare ! 
Behold,  the  leaf  ere  from  the  branch  'tis  freed 
With  all  the  sap  of  life  hath  been  imbued, 
I've  not  had  that!     I  have  not  lived,  indeed! 

DEATH. 

Hast  not  like  others  too  thy  way  pursued? 
CLAUDIO. 

Like  meadow  flowers,  torn  and  cast 

Upon  the  turbid  rushing  stream, 

The  days  of  my  youth  onward  passed; 

That  such  was  life,  I  knew  not,  did  not  dream. 

And  then — I  stood  at  life's  gates,  longingly, 


30  DEATH  AND  THE  FOOL 

Delicious  apprehension  in  my  heart, 

Expecting  in  majestic  storms  to  see 

A  sudden  miracle  burst  them  apart. 

It  came  not  so  to  pass.     And  once  I  stood 

Within,  the  sacredness  was  gone,  then  did 

Desire,  too,  my  memory  elude, 

And  neath  a  ban  I  was  those  things  amid. 

Bewildered  by  the  twilight,  nigh  submerged, 

Impatient,  sore,  my  inner  being  scourged, 

Half-heartedly,  with  all  my  senses  numb, 

In  every  whole  mysteriously  thwarted, 

I  ne'er  by  inner  fires  was  overcome, 

On  mighty  waves  my  soul  was  ne'er  transported. 

Nor  was  I  e'er  with  that  God  face  to  face 

With  whom  one  must  contend  to  gain  his  grace. 

DEATH. 

Thou  didst  receive  as  all  earth's  mortals,  too, 
A  mortal  life  to  live  as  others  do. 
A  faithful  spirit  you  within  ye  bear, 
Which  to  this  chaos  of  unmeaning  things 
Analogy,  interpretation  brings, 
And  bids  ye  plant  your  garden  there 


DEATH  AND  THE  FOOL  31 

Of  sorrow,  mercy,  and  efficiency. 
Ah,  woe  to  thee,  that  must  be  taught  by  me! 
Some  men  are  born  to  bind,  and  some  are  bound. 
With  sultry  hours  and  storms  does  growth  abound. 
With  tear-wet  lids,  and  worn,  harassed  by  care, 
Still  yearning,  wishing  still,  half  in  despair, 
Deep  breathing,  and  with  love  of  life  still  warm, 
But  ripened  all,  ye  fall  into  my  arm. 

CL  AUDIO 

I  am  not  ripe,  indeed,  so  pass  me  by. 

I  will  no  longer  foolishly  lament, 

But  from  this  mortal  soil  I'll  not  be  rent. 

A  longing  deep,  for  life  doth  in  me  cry. 

Before  this  dreadful  fear  the  ban  doth  give, 

I  feel  it  now — I  can — oh,  let  me  live! 

I  feel  it  in  this  infinite,  wild  yearning, 

My  heart  a  love  for  earthly  things  is  learning. 

Oh,  thou  shalt  see,  no  more  a  poor  dumb  brute 

Or  puppet,  shall  another  seem  to  me; 

No  heart  to  me,  hereafter,  shall  be  mute. 

All  joys  I'll  force,  I'll  share  each  misery. 

And  faithfulness,  that  doth  all  life  sustain, 


32  DEATH  AND  THE  FOOL 

I  will  acquire.     .     .     .     And  so  my  life  I'll  live, 
That  good  and  evil  over  me  shall  reign, 
And  to  my  heart  or  grief,  or  smile  shall  give. 
The  mundane  scheme  with  meaning  new  conceiving, 
Now  human  beings  on  my  way  I'll  find; 
No  longer  mutely  giving,  and  receiving, 
I  will  be  bound,  and  I,  I,  too,  will  bind ! 

Perceiving  Death's  unmoved  expression,  his  ter- 
ror increases. 

Why  see,  believe  me,  'twas  not  so  before! 
Thou  thinkst  I  have  known  hate,  known  love  di- 
vine? 

Ah,  no,  the  kernel  never  yet  was  mine, 
'Twas  empty  seeming,  words,  and  nothing  more. 
Behold,  I'll  prove  this  thing,  these  letters,  see, 

He  takes  a  bundle  of  old  letters  from  a  drawer. 

The  vows,  the  tender  notes  that  thru  them  thread, 
Dost  think  that  I  had  felt  these  things  as  she? 
Or  as  my  letters  writ  in  answer  said  ? 

He  throws  the  packet  at  Death's  feet;  the  letters 
are  scattered  over  the  floor. 


DEATH  AND  THE  FOOL  33 

There  keep  this  whole,  this  empty  amorous  life, 
Where  I  reecho  e'er,  and  I'm  supreme, 
Where  borne  on  crest  or  trough  of  human  strife, 
I   sway,   and   every   sacred    thing  blaspheme. 
There !    There !    And  all  things  else  are  but  as  this, 
Devoid  of  sense,  or  love,  or  hate,  or  bliss! 

DEATH 

Thou  fool !     Thou  senseless  fool,  true  reverence 
For  life  I'll  teach  thee  e're  thou  goest  hence. 
Stand  there,  and  learn,  and  silently  behold 
That  others,  when  from  out  this  life  were  going, 
Their  veins  with  human  rapture  sweet  were  flowing, 
And  thou  alone  wast  unresponsive,  cold. 

Death  plays  a  few  notes  on  fiddle  and  calls.  He 
stands  near  the  door  of  the  bedroom,  in  the  fore- 
ground, at  the  right;  Claudia  is  near  the  wall  at 
the  left,  in  semi-darkness.  His  Mother  enters  at 
the  door  at  the  right.  She  is  not  very  old.  She 
wears  a  long,  black  velvet  dress.  A  black  velvet 
cap  with  white  ruche  frames  her  face.  In  her  white 
delicate  hands  she  carries  a  lace  handkerchief.  She 


34  DEATH  AND  THE  FOOL 

steps  softly  through  the  doorway,  and  walks  noise- 
lessly about  the  room. 

HIS  MOTHER 

How  many  tender  pangs  this  atmosphere 

For  me  doth  hold.     A  faint  and  subtle  breath 

As  tho  of  flowers  of  lavender,  doth  waft 

To  me  one  half  of  all  my  earthly  life. 

A  mother's  life,  ah  well,  'tis  one-third  pain, 

One-third  'tis  anguish,  one-third  care.  What  knows 

A  man  of  that? 

She  stops  at  the  chest. 

Is  still  the  edge  as  keen? 
He  fell  against  it  once,  and  cut  his  head; 
He  was  quite  small  and  headstrong,  then,  and  wild, 
He  would  not  be  controlled.     The  window,  ah! 
There  oft  I  stood,  and  stared  into  the  night, 
And  eagerly  I  listened  for  his  step, 
When  dread  misgiving  drove  me  out  of  bed. 
And  when  he  came  not,  tho  the  clock  struck  two, 
And   then  struck .  three,   the  dawn  began  to  glim- 
mer 


DEATH  AND  THE  FOOL  35 

How   oft     .     .     .     But    he   has   never   known   of 

that     .     .     . 

By  day  I,  too,  was  ofttimes  quite  alone. 
One's  hands,  they  tend  the  flowers,  and  they  dust, 
And  shake  the  pillows,  polish  bright  the  brass, 
Thus  goes  the  day;  one's  head,  alas,  has  naught 
To  do;  a  dull  and  heavy  wheel  turns  there, 
With    vague    forebodings    and    dark    dreams    'tis 

freighted, 

And   inexplicable  anxiety. 
It  must  be  portion  of  that  sacred  state 
Of  holy,  transcendental  motherhood, 
Allied  to  all  profound,  mysterious  working 
In  this  world.     But  'tis  not  given  me 
To  longer  breathe  this  sweet,  oppressive  air, 
This  pain-frought  atmosphere  of  bygone  days. 
Yes,  I  must  go,  must  go.     ... 

Exit  through  middle  door, 

CL  AUDIO 
Mother ! 
DEATH 

Silence! 
Thou  canst  not  call  her  back! 


36  DEATH  AND  THE  FOOL 

CL  AUDIO 

Oh,  mother,  come! 

And  let  me  once,  just  once,  with  my  lips  feel 
Thy  quivering  own,  so  tightly  pressed,  lest  they 
The  prideful  silence  break;  and  let  me  kneel 
Before  thee,  thus     .     .     .     Oh,  call  her!     Bid  her 

stay! 

Didst  thou  not  see,  she  did  not  want  to  go? 
Inhuman  one,  why  dost  compel  her  so? 

DEATH 

Grudge  not  what's  mine.     Thou  hadst  her. 
CL  AUDIO 

Aye!     And  ne'er 

I  felt  it!     Barren  quite!     When  did  I  e'er 
Within  me  know  each  fibre  of  my  being 
With  yearning  for  her  throb?     And  when  did  so 
Her  presence  like  a  sacred  deity 
Engulf  my  trembling  soul  o'erwhelmingly, 
In  human  passion,  human  joy,  and  woe! 


DEATH  AND  THE  FOOL  37 

Death,  indifferent  to  Claudia's  lament,  plays  a 
simple  folk-melody.  A  young  Girl  enters,  softly. 
She  wears  a  plain,  large  figured  dress,  laced  shoes, 
a  small  scarf  about  her  neck.  She  is  bareheaded. 

THE  GIRL 

'Twas  beautiful!     Don't  you  think  of  it  more? 

'Tis  true,  you  hurt  me  deeply,  deeply, 

But  then,  what  is't  that  does  not  end  in  pain? 

The  happy  days  I've  seen,  are  very  few, 

And  these,  they  were  as  good  as  any  dream! 

The  flowers  at  the  window,  my  own  flowers, 

The  little  joggling  spinnet,  there  the  clothespress, 

In  which  I  laid  away  your  letters,  and 

What    little    gifts    you    brought    me     ...     all 

these  things — 

Don't  laugh  at  me — grew  beautiful  again, 
And  talked  to  me  with  living,  loving  lips. 
When  rain  on  sultry,  summer  evening  fell, 
And    we   stood    at    the   window     .     .     .     oh,    the 

fragrance 

Of  the  humid  trees!     .     .     .     All  that  is  gone! 
And  now  is  dead  all  that  was  living  then, 


38  DEATH  AND  THE  FOOL 

Lies  buried  in  our  sweet  love's  little  grave. 
Ah,  but  'twas  beautiful,  and  you're  to  blame 
For  all  its  beauty!     Then  you  cast  me  off, 
Threw  me  aside,  unthinking,  cruel,  as 
A  child,  of  playing  wearied,  drops  his  flowers. 
Ah,  God,  I  did  have  naught  to  hold  you! 

A  pause. 

Your  letter  came,  the  last,  the  dreadful  one; 
And  then  I  wished  to  die.    Not  to  distress  you 
Do  I  tell  you  this.    One  letter  more 
I  meant  to  write  in  parting;  no  lament, 
Not  passionate,  or  fierce,  unbridled  grief, 
But  just  to  make  you  yearn  a  bit  for  me, 
And  teach  you  to  feel  homesick  for  my  love, 
And  shed  a  few  tears,  'cause  'twas  then  too  late. 
I  did  not  write  that  letter,  no,  why  should  I  ? 
I  could  not  know  how  much  of  your  real  heart 
Was  in  all  this,  that  so  with  glittering 
And  so  with  fever  filled  my  senses  full, 
That  thru  the  day  I  walked  as  in  a  dream. 
No  good  intent  turns  faithlessness  to  truth. 
And  tears  can  not  recall  that  which  is  dead. 


DEATH  AND  THE  FOOL  39 

One  does  not  die  of  these  things.    Nay,  much  latei, 
After  long  and  weary  misery  'twas  granted 
That  I  might  lay  me  down  and  die.    I  prayed 
That  in  your  last  hour  I  might  come  to  you, 
Not  horrible,  not  to  torment  you  then, 
But  as  the  cup  of  wine  that  one  has  drunk 
And  set  aside,  its  fragrance  vague  recalls 
A  distant,  half  forgotten,  gentle  joy. 

Exit. 

Claudia  buries  his  face  in  his  hands.  A  Man  en- 
ters immediately  after.  He  is  apparently  of  Claudia's 
age.  He  is  carelessly  dressed  in  a  dusty  traveling 
suit.  The  wooden  handle  of  a  knife  protrudes  from 
his  left  breast-pocket.  He  remains  standing  in  the 
center  of  the  stage  facing  Claudia. 

THE  MAN. 

And  are  you  living  still,  eternal  trifler? 
And  do  you  still  read  Horace,  and  take  pride 
In  mocking  brilliancy  and  unmoved  heart? 
With  pretty  speech  you  found  your  way  to  me, 


40  DEATH  AND  THE  FOOL 

Pretended  interest  in  what  moved  me. 

You  said  that  I  brought  things  up  in  your  mind 

That  secret  slept  in  you ;  just  as  the  wind 

Of  night  at  times  of  distant  goal  doth  whisper. 

O,  yes,  a  fine  Eolian  harp,  indeed, 

You  were,  and  ever  was  the  lovesick  wind 

For  it,  another's  worn,  exhausted  breath, 

'Twas  mine  or  someone  else's.    We  had  been 

Good   chums   for  years.     Good   chums?     That   is 

'twixt  us 

Was  common  conversation  day  and  night. 
We  had  the  same  acquaintances,  and  played 
Alike  with  women.     Common,  even  as 
Between  a  master  and  his  slave  is  common 
His  house,  his  sedan,  dog,  and  meals,  and  whip. 
To  one  the  house  is  pleasure,  t'other,  prison ; 
Him  the  sedan  bears,  while  he  its  weight 
Upon  his  shoulder  feels;  one  in  the  garden 
Frolics  with  the  dog,  the  other  waits  on  it. 
Emotions  half  completed,  pearls,  in  pain 
My  soul  had  once  conceived,  you  took  from  me, 
And  as  your  playthings  threw  them  up  in  air. 
You,  quick  to  chum,  and  quick  t'  have  done  with 

friends ; 


DEATH  AND  THE  FOOL  41 

I,  with  silent  wooing  in  my  soul 

And  teeth  fast  locked ;  while  you  without  constraint 

At  all  things  fumbled,  I  stood  by  abashed, 

Confused,  my  words  died  ere  I  spoke  them. 

A  Woman  came  upon  our  path.     And  I 

Was  overcome  as  with  a  dreadful  illness, 

Wherein  the  senses  reel  with  overstrain 

From  having  gazed  too  long  toward  one  desire, 

One  goal,  with  fascinating  melancholy, 

With  fragrance  filled,  and  fiery  glow,  as  lightning 

Thru  sombre  darkness  hovers.     And  you,  too, 

Beheld  these  things  and  were  attracted. — "Yes, 

"Because  I,  too,  am  just  like  that  at  times; 

"The  Girl's  rare  lassitude  allured  me, 

"Her  stern  disdain,  her  chastened  mien,  all  this 

"In  one  so  young."     Did  you  not  tell  me  this 

In  later  years?     It  all  allured  you  so! 

To  me  'twas  more  than  merely  blood  and  brains! 

And  satiated,  then,  to  me  you  flung 

The  puppet,  all  defaced  her  image  was 

In  you  with  surfeit,  terribly  disfigured, 

Of  all  her  wondrous  charm  she  was  denuded, 

Her  features  senseless,  and  her  living  hair 


42  DEATH  AND  THE  FOOL 

Hung  dead;  You  threw  a  spectre  to  me, 
With  your  vile  art  to  brutish  nothingness 
You  analyzed  her  sweet  and  subtle  charm. 
For  this,  at  last,  I  hated  you,  e'en  as 
In  dim  foreboding  I  had  always  hated, 
And  I  avoided  you. 

Then  Destiny 

At  last  my  shattered  spirit  blessed  and  placed 
Once  more  an  aim  and  will  within  my  breast, 
Which  was  not  quite  dead  to  all  good  endeavor 
Despite  your  poisonous  proximity, 
Aye,  for  a  lofty  purpose,  Destiny 
Drove  me  to  seek  death  thru  this  murd'rous  blade, 
Which  flung  me  down  into  a  wayside  ditch. 
There  lying,  I  by  slow  degrees  decayed, 
For  reasons  which  you  could  not  comprehend  ; 
And  still  was  thrice  more  blessed  than  you,  who  ne'er 
Was  aught  to  one,  nor  any  aught  to  you. 

Exit. 

CLAUDIO. 

Was  naught  to  one,  nor  any  aught  to  me. 


DEATH  AND  THE  FOOL  43 

Slowly  rising. 

As  on  the  stage  a  poor  comedian 

In  answer  to  his  cue  comes,  speaks  his  part, 

And  goes,  indifferent  toward  all  things,  dull, 

The  sound  of  his  own  voice  doth  leave  him  cold, 

Nor  have  his  hollow  tones  aught  power  to  move, 

So  I  have  gone  upon  the  stage  of  life, 

Have  walked  across  it,  void  of  power  and  worth. 

Why  did  this  hap  to  me?    Thou,  Death,  oh  why 

Didst  thou  first  have  to  teach  me  life  to  see, 

No  longer  thru  a  veil,  alert  and  whole, 

Here  waking  somewhat,  and  thus  passing  on? 

And  wherefore  is  with  such  exalted  presage 

Of  things  of  life,  the  childish  spirit  cleft, 

That  when  those  things  at  last  have  come  to  pass 

But  empty  thrills  of  memory  are  left? 

Why  sings  for  us  no  magic  violin, 

Wherein  the  mystic  spirit  world's  revealed 

That  buried  lies  each  human  breast  within, 

As  blossoms  buried  'neath  the  mountain  slide? 

Could  I  but  be  with  thee,  and  hear  but  thee, 

Unthwarted  by  aught  petty  mystery! 

I  can !    Grant  unto  me  as  thou  hast  said, 


44  DEATH  AND  THE  FOOL 

Be  thou  my  life,  Death,  since  my  life  was  dead! 
What  forces  me,  who  neither  state  affrm, 
To  call  thee  death,  and  t'other  life  to  term? 
More  living  life   than  all  life  ever  held 
Thou  didst  confine  within  one  little  hour. 
With  earthly  phantoms  from  my  brain  dispelled. 
I  give  myself  unto  thy  mystic  power. 

He  stops  a  moment  to  reflect. 

Mayhap  'tis  but  a  dying,  feeble  notion, 

Washed  upward  by  my  deadly,   wakeful   blood, 

But  ne'er  before  in  living,  fierce  emotion 

Have  I  felt  thus,  it  therefore  seemeth  good. 

If  now  'tis  destined  I  shall  be  effaced, 

My  brain  this  last  hour  fully  hath  embraced ; 

And  life  may  go  with  all  its  soulless  sham. 

Now  that  I  die,  I  feel  at  last  I  am. 

In  sleep  our  dreamed  emotions  oft  amass 

Till  consciousness  at  last  thru  sleep  is  breaking; 

So  now  do  I  thru  excess  feeling  pass 

From  out  life's  dreaming,  unto  death's  awaking. 

He  sinks  dead  at  Death's  feet. 


DEATH  AND  THE  FOOL  45 

DEATH 

Slowly  passes  out,  shaking  his  head. 

How  wonderful   these  humans  are,   indeed, 

Who  do  explain  the  inexplicable, 

And  what  was  never  writ,  they  read; 

The  intricate  they,  subjugating,  bind, 

And  thru  eternal  darkness  paths  they  find. 

He  goes  out  thru  the  middle  door,  his  last  words 
are  faintly  audible.  The  room  remains  quiet. 
Through  the  window  Death,  drawing  his  bow 
across  the  strings,  is  seen  to  pass,  immediately  be- 
hind him  follow  the  Mother,  the  Girl,  and  a  figure 
closely  resembling  Claudio. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORK 

Los  Ange? 
'wok  is  Df  "V  on  *he 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

Return  this  material  to  the  library 

from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


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